16.
Saturday, October 14
SealCast, The Official Chester FC Podcast, Episode 36: Max Best Interview!
Boggy: Hello and welcome to SealCast, the monthly Chester FC podcast. I'm your host, Boggy Marsh, and we've got an unusual episode for you today. Not three guests, not two guests, but one guest!
Max: Subverting expectations. Love it. Good job, Boggy.
Boggy: There he is. Chester's Director of Football and manager of the men's and women's teams, Max Best.
Max: Do you want to push that mic away from your mouth? You're very plosive.
Boggy: We can fix that in post.
Max: Great. When are you going to start doing that?
Boggy: I know you're pressed for time - oh, that was a big one. [sound of microphone stand being moved] Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers. That better? I know you don't want to be in here with me all night, so let's get straight into the meat. Since the last pod, we've played twice in the league, had two cup matches, and strangely only played once with the women. Let's go all the way back to the match against Boston United.
Max: No. I want to start with the women's team. Every day someone tells me I need to stop managing the women's team and focus on the men. Even people on the new board have said it. I say if you make me choose, I'll choose the women, except I won't, because put me in that position and I'll be straight out the door.
Boggy: Let's start with the women's team, then.
Max: This is a serious project for me. I'm building something from scratch. It's exciting. It's fulfilling on a personal level. If you don't like it, I don't care. You don't want to hear me talk about it? Fine. Turn off. Go support Liverpool - they don't take their women's team seriously. But don't tell me what to do. It's bonkers you have an opinion on how I should manage my career.
Boggy: Let me check my notes. It was a cup match, wasn't it?
Max: This country drives me absolutely crazy, sometimes. I've said it again and again - the women's team matters to me. If it doesn't matter to you, fine. But listen to the words coming out of my mouth. I'm doing it. End of story. You don't get to choose. You don't own me. You don't own me. Get that into your thick skulls.
Boggy: Of course, Max. [loud pen scrape] That was me crossing out a question about your contract. [nervous chuckle]
Max: I hate stupidity, Boggy. Someone comes up to me in the street, says we should play a flat back four because with Lucy we get more height, experience, and leadership on the pitch, love that. Someone says Dani needs to play on the right because she's too right-footed to play left mid - hey! Agree to disagree but nice talking to you, see you on Sunday. Some absolute jellyfish comes up to me, says, you know when they start banging on about women's football, you know what I do? I turn the radio off. All right. So? You want a medal? I check out when people talk about Formula One but I wouldn't say that to Lewis Hamilton. I have the right to like and dislike whatever I want, but going out of my way to say that to his face would be rude and ignorant. And it would be stupid because then he wouldn't want to talk to me and if Darlington offered him a juicy contract, maybe he'd take that just to spite me.
Boggy: You're doing very well at not swearing.
Max: I'm not happy, Boggy.
Boggy: Well, I for one am more than happy to talk about the women's team.
Max: No.
Boggy: Sorry?
Max: It makes no sense to start there. Let's do it chronologically. Let's talk about Boston.
***
Match 10 of 46: Boston United versus Chester FC
I didn't go on the team bus to Lincolnshire, because I spent the morning with the coaches who couldn't make my 'Learn from the Best' event. Seven of the eight who'd expressed interest turned up, and again there were two decent ones who I added to our list of 'spares'. If I ever had the budget for it, I would try letting these coaches do one-to-one skills sessions like Cody had been doing with Raffi. Maybe with the Triplets, or Vivek, to see if I could get them up to CA 20, like, twenty percent faster.
Seven coaches turned up, but I immediately became obsessed with the eighth - the one who'd asked if we would repeat the session but who hadn't shown up. For some reason, I was desperate to meet him. I asked the Brig if he could track the guy down.
Then we drove to Boston, which blew my mind by being halfway between Skegness and Norwich. How is that possible? Surely Skegness is in Wales? My mental map of England was still basically a rectangle with Manchester in the centre, represented by a big star, London, bottom-right, depicted as a skull, and Bristol, somewhere near the bottom-left, a question mark.
Boston United play in yellow. Their nickname is the Pilgrims and they've got the Mayflower ship as their logo. The stands at the Jakemans Community Stadium are fully covered, and although it's relatively humble from the inside, from the outside it's impressive. It's all sweeps and curves - even the floodlights bend in a pleasing arc.
I'd been watching clips and they played some nice football. Tidy, attractive passing moves. They had a centre back who liked to dribble into midfield and make things happen, and they had a left-footed midfielder who had a fantastic long shot. In the warm up, I saw their average CA was 40, but their best player wasn't available, so I guessed they were normally a little bit stronger.
Their average morale was 4.3 out of 7 - way lower than ours. The midfielder with the great left foot - let's call him Harry Moodini - had Very Poor morale.
After this, we would have a week to recover before playing a tier seven team, so I decided to go hard against Boston. That meant using 3-5-2.
Ben in goal had turned silver - CA 40.
Steve, Carl, and Glenn were the three centre-backs. Glenn had maxed out his PA of 54, which was a big shame, but Carl's relentless hard work and new focus was paying off big-time. His CA had crept up to 49 - almost gold standard! And his default match rating had gone from 6 to 7. Not quite first name on the team sheet, but it was getting to the point I needed to tie him down to a long-term contract.
Then on the wings: Aff, who'd gone gold, and Joe Anka, who was struggling to get to his limit of 40. We had Ryan Jack, Raffi, and Sam Topps in a pretty fearsome centre.
Up front, Henri and Tony. Henri had been improving rapidly, and was nearly at platinum level.
Our average CA was 47.8, and average morale was still sky-high on 6.14.
Boston United, then, were a very good mid-table side, but we were already the fourth best team in the division. They had home advantage, we had the morale edge. And we absolutely slapped when it came to bench options - apart from Robbo, the backup goalie, we had Trick, who would let us switch to a back four, Magnus, who had gone silver and was starting to be hard to leave out of the first eleven, Pascal, who'd give us a burst of speed late in the game, and Max Best.
Before we left the dressing room, I had a surprise for the lads. Normally there was no need for any great tactical input from me. If we played our game, we didn't need to worry about what the other team might do.
"Okay shut the fuck up," I said. I'd arranged some yellow magnets on the board in a 4-4-2. "These guys are all right. They'll come out fighting and try to get ahead, then they'll play around us, tire us out, and in the second half they'll bring on a couple of fast forwards and dick us on counters. They've got a nasty streak, so if things go wrong they'll dip into their bag of dirty tricks and try to put you off. Right? They're here to battle."
I looked around the changing room. They looked ready to fight. No problems there.
"Glenn tells me you've got a couple of set pieces you're all happy with. Knock yourself out." This thing where I let them try out set pieces they designed was very motivational for them. To me it was like letting a kid choose how to slice his pizza - it ended up ugly, but it kept them busy for a couple of minutes. "This guy," I said, touching the right-sided CB magnet,"loves to dribble up into midfield. It's very beautiful, very elegant, pure class." I slid the magnet to midfield. "Pure class until we transition and their lone centre back has to deal with Henri and Tony." I shook my head, smiling, as I imagined the mayhem that would ensue. "I can't believe he'd have the nerve to do that against Henri fucking Lyons, but let's see."
Henri was staring at the tactics board, affronted at the idea that his marker would push up into midfield. I tried not to laugh. Manipulating Henri was one of my favourite parts of the job. I thought I was getting pretty good at it.
"This dude," I said, sliding the left-sided CM around, "has, er..." How could I say he had bad morale? I couldn't. I scratched my chin. "Sam and Joe, you'll be closest to him most of the time. Everyone else, pay attention because I don't know who'll be near him on set pieces. What I want..." Again I had to stop myself laughing. Mirth was definitely not the right vibe for this. "What I want is for you to talk to him. This doesn't leave this room, except for a couple of comments on the pitch. Got that? But this whole summer, his manager was hawking him around, trying to offload him. I had a look at him before going for Ryan." This was all fabricated, but my players didn't know that. "Basically, Sam, ask him if he knew he was up for sale. Then Joe, you say no, there was no fee, the gaffer wanted him off the wages so he would have binned him off for nowt. Right? Third guy, say something like, 'hey bro, are you still on the transfer list?' Or 'how come you're playing if your boss don't rate you?"
Sam stood up. "Is that an order?"
Unexpected. Was he about to rebel? Had he grown a moral compass? "Yes."
"Got it." He took a few steps away, then stopped. He took in my posture - I was still in didactic mode. "Sorry, I thought we were done. I need to pee."
"Have at it." I shooed him away, and smiled at Glenn. "Captain."
He stood and clapped his hands. "Come on, lads! Let's warm up. Top quality, now, lads!"
***
Boggy: The Jakemans Stadium has been a tough place for us to go in recent years. What were you expecting?
Max: Oh, you know. I told the lads to keep it tight first thirty, see if we could snatch a goal on a set piece or something like that.
***
Boston kicked off, Moodini dribbled forward, Sam Topps took the ball from him, and that was Boston's best move of the half. We fucking crushed them. Suffocated them. Our midfield was so dominant it was funny. I couldn't remember a more one-sided half - ever.
I was leaning against the dugout, enjoying it. We all were - Ben had the easiest half of his career. Glenn spent more time in Boston's penalty area - going up for corners and free kicks - than in his own. Sam seemed to have challenged Raffi to see who could recover the ball the fastest, and they were both winning. Aff was firing delicious crosses to Henri, and Joe was getting to the byline and doing cut-backs for Tony.
The new free kick and corner routines the lads had cooked up looked fun, but they weren't all that threatening. I liked them as a way to disrupt Boston. Keep them wondering what we might try next.
But the more we dominated and didn't get a goal, the more we snatched at the chances we were creating. Even Henri tried to hit a couple of half-chances too hard, causing them to skyrocket over the bar. Not for the first time, I wondered about using God Save the King on his finishing. Sure, giving the points to Youngster was the only sensible long-term play, but I really wanted to get out of this league.
The Brig came up to me. "Are you worried we haven't scored?"
"Not yet. There's loads of time."
"Whenever I watch a match on the television, the commentator says something like 'will they rue all these missed chances?'"
"It happens sometimes. You get a match exactly like this, and the better team doesn't win. There was one game, I think it was Arsenal v Bolton or something. Arsenal had thirty shots, Bolton had one and won two-nil."
"How is that possible?"
"One was an own goal. So yeah, mad stuff happens, but Boston look pretty much out of ideas already. They were expecting 4-1-4-1. I think their second striker was supposed to be marking our DM."
The Brig checked out the other dugout. It was very, very close and its occupants were losing their minds, screaming at their players and the ref. "Is it possible they can adapt at half time?"
I shrugged. "Not really bothered what they do. But I've got a surprise for them."
"Oh?"
A breeze blew the toggles of my hoodie around. Cold air dragged along my neck, chilled the back parts of my ears. The pitch was good. The skies were blue. Our fans were in good voice. And as Harry Moodini's morale dropped from Very Poor to Abysmal, so did his match rating, from 7 to 6. "I'm feeling frisky."
***
Near the end of a first half in which we'd had eleven shots on target, Sam passed back to Glenn Ryder. Some crazy new thought went through his mind, one he'd never had before. Under no pressure, he turned and passed back to Ben. At first, I thought he was simply letting the keeper have a touch of the ball, but the captain ordered his fellow centre backs to retreat with him.
Sam understood instantly, and he brought the midfield line back, too. Ryder was deliberately encouraging his opponents to come closer to his goal! For the first time in his career!
Boston sensed a chance to make something happen - they pushed forward en masse.
Ryder stands with his foot on the ball. He plays it sideways to Alton.
Alton to Carlile.
Carlile chips forward to Joe Anka, who fires a diagonal to Lyons.
Lyons is too strong for his marker.
Lyons brings Jack into the move.
Jack's first touch pass to the left takes two defenders out of the game!
Chester are flying forward from all angles.
Boston are struggling to get back.
Aff takes a touch, looks up, and pulls the ball back across goal.
Raffi Brown is there! He's unmarked!
GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!
That was far too easy for Chester.
The team's delight at scoring wasn't just the usual mix of emotions like relief and joy. There was a lot of amused wonderment in there, too. Two things made it taste sweeter.
First, that Ryder had taken it upon himself to play the Youngster role.
Second, that Raffi should have been tracked by Harry Moodini, but when my midfielders had surged past him, Moodini had only trotted back. Danny Prince or any of my players would have fucking sprinted. Was that a demonstration of what shit morale could do on the pitch? My players had got in this lad's head, he hadn't done his job, and we'd scored from it.
And I knew what my guys were thinking - Max has done it again.
I suppose you have to give credit where credit's due - I basically created and scored that goal myself, in the changing room fifteen minutes before the match even kicked off. Messi never did that. Maradona never did that. It was, conceivably, the single greatest individual achievement in the history of any sport.
***
Boggy: The celebrations for Raffi Brown's goal were unusually bouncy.
Max: Bouncy? I don't know about that. When the goal went in I was thinking about in-game tweaks we needed to make.
Boggy: From where I was watching, the goal seemed to have a special meaning to the players. Can you tell us what?
Max: Just relief, I think. They'd had a lot of shots and you get those days, right, where the ball just won't go in. Actually, wasn't it just before half time? The last kick of the half? It's always a buzz to score right before the break.
Boggy: Max, are you being coy? There was a strong rumour that you set the goal up in some way indiscernible to mortal men.
Max: Me? I wasn't playing.
Boggy: Not yet.
Max: Not yet.
***
Half time was a laugh. Jokes all round, banter, vibes vibes vibes. There was an unwritten rule that until I engaged them, the players would leave me alone while I played tower defence games on my phone or dicked around with the tactics board, but this was one match where they nearly couldn't restrain themselves. They wanted to know how I'd known about Moodini.
Near the end of the break, Boston's tactics board changed to 3-5-2. Moodini was off, and now they planned to match us up and see if they could get back into the game that way. That meant putting one of their fast forwards on the left wing, where I felt confident he'd be pretty rubbish. It also ended our chance of getting an overload if their centre back went walkies, but you can't have everything.
"All right," I said, surprising the guys. There were half times where I didn't say anything at all and they thought this was one of them. "You boys were very mean and cruel to their number 11. I don't condone that at all. But they're taking him off and switching to 3-5-2, so I'm going to bring myself on."
Physio Dean stepped forward. He had been driven crazy by my surprise cameo against Tadcaster and had begged me to get another MRI before launching into real action. "Are you sure?"
"Very, very, very sure." Although Ryder had shown the on-pitch leadership we had needed, I didn't see any harm in getting out there myself. It would accelerate my path back to full fitness, and I thought if I was on the pitch my guys wouldn't stop attacking when we got to three-nil up. Also, I felt like playing, so whatever. No need for a reason beyond that. "So let's think..." It was only a question of which player I'd replace. I stared at the board. It was a choice between two solid guys, but one was faster and speed was all Boston had. "Steve, great game, thanks. Early shower, enjoy the show. Good?"
"You're going to play centre back?" he said.
"How can I play centre back? I'm a mystery winger."
"So... what's the plan?" said Vimsy.
"You'll see," I said, smirking, like I was in complete control of the entire universe. (A few minutes later, on the way to the pitch, when no-one was looking, I told the Brig what the plan was and what subs to make if I got knocked out. I wasn't a complete lunatic.)
"Here you go, boss," said Glenn. He was doing something weird that I couldn't get my head around. It took me a second to realise he was slipping the captain's armband up my wrist.
"The fuck are you doing?" I said.
"You're gonna be the captain when you play, right?"
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Captains had to do all kinds of tedious shit like fine players who were late to team meetings and stuff. It was way too authoritarian for me, but basically everyone I'd ever met had said that kind of discipline was important and without it, my club would spiral out of control faster than a malfunctioning rocket. The only time I might put myself as captain was when we used the Triple Captain perk. "Put that back on, and get fucking captaining!"
When I scanned the lads at the start of the half, everything was looking good, but with one notable change - Ryder's morale had gone to Superb. He wasn't a traitor! He just wanted to be the captain and worried he'd lose that honour to me. Well, he could lift the trophies at the end of the season. That didn't motivate me at all. Clearly, it motivated him.
The morale perk was one of my favourites. Understanding my players was beyond motivational. My own morale must have gone green, because I found I was floating. I scanned the pitch again and found we were primed and ready to drop hand grenades. Just for a second, I felt sorry for Boston United.
***
Boggy: We came out for the second half with you on the pitch, and you got a standing ovation.
Max: I did?
Boggy: You did. From the home fans, too.
Max: Oh, that's cool. I genuinely didn't hear it. I was super focused.
Boggy: So you were on for your league debut, but Joe Anka was still there. So obviously the plan was for him to play right midfield.
Max: Yep.
Boggy: But then it struck me that we only had two defenders. But two right midfielders.
Max: I've been known to play central midfield, Boggy. I've never been asked to play there, but I have played there.
Boggy: Right, and that would have made four CMs!
Max: You seem upset.
Boggy: I just don't understand what I saw.
Max: Let's say I played as a kind of trainee centre back.
Boggy: Well, you need more training because you played as a defensive midfielder. Spectrum told me, after the match.
Max: So you know. What's the problem?
Boggy: We can't play 2-6-2! We can't play away from home with two defenders, Max. That's all kinds of crazy.
Max: Are you sure?
Boggy: No!
***
Seeing Ian Evans at the tribunal had reminded me of the formation I'd come up with to make the best use of our squad. I'd called it a 4-4-2 killer and Ian Evans had laughed in my face.
All right, well, we were absolutely crushing this match, there was a ten-point difference in CA, we were fitter, and our morale was as high as you could get without pharmaceuticals. What better time to test my theory?
Now, you might be thinking, Max, bro, it's a dumb formation but anyway, you didn't have 2-6-2 so why do you keep banging on about it? Because, mate, I could disobey myself! As long as I was on the pitch, I could switch things around. I could take a 4-4-2 with me as the second striker and turn it into a 5-4-1. The only catch in that hypothetical example was that I would have to play in defence.
At my current level of recovery, I couldn't play in my usual position of right midfield. I didn't have the skill or the acceleration to get past a full back and if I did, my crosses were weak and my shots had no power. Also, in a 3-5-2 variant, the wide players have to track back as much as they go forward, so it needed more stamina than I had.
But I could play DM. I could play D fucking M! My ability to read the game and guess what was going to happen next was as good as ever, and after intercepting I could play a short pass and get us rocking and rolling.
Yeah. I subbed myself on as the central centre back, and simply walked ten yards further forward. The tactics screen 'broke' and I had my dream formation.
[https://ted-steel.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/09/PNG-image-181D15AC2CC1-1.png]
Things started pretty well. Boston came out of the blocks fast and furious, and ran straight into a brick wall. A good-looking brick wall, it has to be said.
Thorpe breaks free down the left. He picks out a pass to Julian.
Julian takes a touch and looks for an option.
But Best nips in and takes the ball.
Best finds Brown and Chester are away!
Wright breaks through the tackle. Boston have a three-on-three break!
He looks left and right. He slides a pass to the right...
But it's intercepted. Best was in the right place at the right time.
Julian is first to the second ball!
He turns and scampers towards goal.
But he's wiped out!
A thunderous tackle from Best.
Best has some choice words for the Boston forward.
Boggy: There was an incident where you tackled their striker - very 1980s - and after setting Aff free, you turned and gave the chap a piece of your mind.
Max: Really? Doesn't ring a bell.
Boggy: It was pretty intense.
Max: Huh. Tackles aren't really my thing. You might be misremembering, there.
Boggy: Max! You wiped him out!
Max: Nah. I'm a flair player. I don't get involved in that stuff. Tackles? What's that?
***
Boston's manager must have given them a fire and brimstone half time speech, because they had upped their intensity, upped their work rate, and upped their level of kicking the shit out of anyone in a different colour shirt.
Twice I got the ball, passed it on, and got hit by a late cheap shot by this Julian prick. So when he tried to dribble to the big open space on my right, I tracked him, calculated, and slid in, hard. I got the ball, yes, clean as a whistle, and then I upended him, clean as a music festival toilet. But my elegant slide slash brutal assault ended with me daintily lifting myself to my feet, and cutting back the way Cody had trained me. It was so beautiful, so controlled, the ref didn't even think about giving a free kick. And when the action had moved on, I suggested to the Julian guy that if he went for me off the ball again, he would find himself being driven to his house in a medical vehicle.
***
Boggy: It got the Chester fans going, I can tell you that. They were making a fearsome racket. Then came the setbacks.
Max: Setbacks? Against Boston? What?
***
I did my big tackle and to me, that was that, on with the game, but the Boston manager went cray cray. Joe Anka was over that side of the pitch and heard what was said, as did Vimsy and Physio Dean.
But it was Joe who most completely lost his mind, and there was an enormous melee. The ref tried to calm things down by showing Joe a red card, but it didn't help. If anything, things got even more heated.
While everyone on both teams converged on the home dugout, which was really close to the away dugout, I calmly walked over and waved at Livia to join me on the pitch. She'd been right at the edge of the aggro, trying to stay out of it, but 'it' kept coming closer. She was more than happy to escape the scrum.
From our position in the centre circle, I put my hand on her shoulder and she did the same to my waist. We were like a squad watching one of their mates go forward to take a penalty. I sighed. "You okay?"
"Yes, Max."
I glanced at her. No morale help with this relationship. She seemed fine. "Look at Vimsy and Dean getting stuck in. What a pair of twats. Christ, all the subs are at it, too. What the fuck?"
She looked up at me. "The manager was trying to gee up his players. To foul you."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"It was the phrasing. He said, 'Oi, Trev, Gaz, put that fucking Nancy boy on a stretcher.' That's when Joe went for him."
I groaned. "So I can't even fine him for getting sent off? Because he was defending my honour? Is that it?"
The flame of the fire had died down enough for a bit of common sense to kick in. The Brig had been pushing players away from the action, and Glenn and Sam had eventually switched from troublemakers to peacemakers.
When things had settled down, I brought Livia back to the dugout. "Vimsy, Dean, all the subs, you're an embarrassment, fuck off to the dressing room. Brig, sit here next to Livia. Do not let any of those fucks within five yards of her."
The Brig was just as pissed as me about the loss of discipline. It might have been the first time I ever heard him swear. "Which fucks? Our fucks or the Boston fucks?"
"The Boston fucks." My guys were still hanging around. Rage flooded me, but I got on top of it instantly. "Ten seconds to get out of sight or it's two week fines all round."
Pascal went first, followed by Magnus, then everyone else headed up the tunnel, leaving our bench empty save for Livia with her medical bag, being guarded by the Brig.
All the time, the referee was trying to peck my head off, talking shit, but I ignored it, just as I ignored everything the Boston twats were saying. Being down to ten men wouldn't stop me humiliating them. I was angrier with my lot than Boston, but that didn't mean I was going to let them off the hook. If they wanted some dark arts, I'd show them how dark this art could get.
I went back onto the pitch. We had a big hole on the right, now, and we had three central midfielders who weren't naturals at playing right mid. I had Sam as the right-most of the three CMs, and he was the most solid defensively. I switched him to 'make forward runs: no' to give us a bit of protection, then made Aff our playmaker and set the team to pass left.
The match restarted, full of spite and menace, and that was not the vibe we needed for this one. We needed to get back to how we'd approached the first half. So when I wasn't scampering around making interceptions, playing one-touch passes into the midfield, or covering our exposed right-hand flank, I was pottering around getting my guys back in the right mental state.
Tony, Raffi, Ryan, and Ben didn't need a calming word. With Aff, it was a simple, small gesture - focus. With Henri, instinct told me not to motivate him as such, but to get technical. Bring him back to the match that way.
"Henri, if you and Tony switch, do you think this rampaging centre back will be more likely to push forward?"
"Do you want him to push forward?"
"Absolutely."
Henri thought about it, and the unwanted aggression fell out of him. "Let's keep it this way. I will stop pressing him and appear disinterested. He might become emboldened."
"Amazing."
I jogged back to the DM slot, and we saw off another attack. Boston had renewed energy, and half an hour to play against ten men. But they were utterly predictable, and anything I couldn't deal with on my own, Carl mopped up.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"Carl! Leave some work for Glenn, you greedy prick!" He liked that, and the compliment was enough to achieve my goal. As a Boston player sat down to get treatment on a sore ankle, I went to my captain. "Glenn. I want to get a couple more goals on the board, and then I'm going to repay these pricks in kind. I'll need you to keep a lid on."
"On what?"
"On us. I'm going to act crazy, but we all know I'm not crazy. So you get the lads and bring them over to one side. Do not engage Boston. Do not get into verbals. Do not get involved."
"But you're going to?"
"Course," I said, laughing. "But no-one else. Right? Set an example. You're my captain. You're my champion. And today your job is to let me do my thing." Calling him captain had been powerful, but calling him my champion went right into his soul. The guy's eyes turned red with all steamy fire coming out. Motivation 9000.
The physio went off, and the Boston player winced as he tested his foot. He had decided to play on.
I scanned the pitch, and felt a surge of expectation. We were ready to get back to work.
But I'd missed one guy - Sam Topps. Raffi competed for a header, won it, won the second ball, and faked to pass. His opponent slid in, but Raffi did the cut back we'd done in training - very smoothly, I might add - pushed past another midfielder, shoveled the ball to Sam, and sprinted around another player, ready to be fed the ball.
Sam had other ideas - he got the ball out from under his feet and chipped it towards Henri.
I went crazy.
Fake crazy, of course, but maybe with a couple of drops of actual mania.
"The fuck?" I said, storming towards him. "The fuck was that?"
"Henri was free."
"Who gives a shit? We don't fucking hand the ball to the other team, mate! We don't do shit, low percentage garbage! Just coz we fucking feel like it!" This was fun, being on the pitch to give a constant, rolling bollocking. "Have some fucking pride in your performance, mate."
That got him. He bit his lip to stop him giving me shit back - I'd been pretty flawless so he couldn't get me on mistakes I'd made - and he turned away, jaw clenched.
The ball was launched into midfield again, Raffi won the header, again, but this time a Boston dude was there first. Sam sprinted like a maniac towards it, and for a second I was sure he would launch into a reckless, dangerous, red card tackle. But as he shifted his body weight to do just that, the ball carrier sensed it and turned away from the danger - right into my path. I booped the ball up the way I'd taught Dani, and when it hit the grass I side footed it to Sam.
He scampered away and played a simple pass to Ryan Jack.
I smiled. I was in complete control of my team, now, and we were in complete control of this match.
***
Boggy: I mean, the setbacks! The red card! The injuries.
Max: Not really setbacks, are they? They're just events. Just things that happened.
Boggy: But you must have been worried.
Max: I was worried Boston's manager might pop.
***
Boston were able to move the ball down their left, our right, with their fast forward going on dribbles with no direct opponent. But as soon as he got into our last third, I'd sprint over and sort him out. It was easy; he was so right-footed he would always try to dribble to the 'inside' of the pitch, and not once did he go straight down the line. In the time before I got over there, he could have done all sorts of things, but he looked like a lost little lamb.
"You know," I said to him, helpfully, after he tried to run past me for the fourth time, "it's not your day. You should probably just cross it. You know how to hit a cross, right?"
"Fuck you," he said.
But next time he got clear, he slowed down, took a long, hard look at the ball, and swung his left foot at it. He nudged the ball with his right just before his left arrived, and he blasted the ball at a crazy angle that brought a snide, mocking jeer from the Chester fans, and some angry shouts from the home lot.
I was right next to him, stroking my chin. "Right," I said, like an engineer trying to work out why a machine was broken. "Maybe go back to running into blind alleys. It's still embarrassing, but not as bad as that."
He didn't tell me to get fucked. He didn't say anything. He didn't need to - his morale went red.
And then, with our attacking play starting to crank back into gear:
Best takes the throw-in. All the way back to the keeper.
Cavanagh plays it short to Ryder.
Ryder to Jack. He turns.
Jack to Brown. Brown accelerates.
Suddenly, Chester players are everywhere!
The ball's played to Aff. He gets his head down, and shapes to cross.
But he surges to the byline...
He cuts back, onto his weaker right foot.
Aff stands the ball up to the far post.
Lyons heads it back into the centre...
Hetherington can't miss!
GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!
The Boston keeper has his head in his hands.
His defence didn't give him much help.
Amazing goal, but it came at a cost. When he'd cut back, Aff had been caught by the defender who slid in, and his acceleration and pace had turned red. These situations were where I needed the Injuries perk. Was this a minor knock? Could Aff 'run it off'? Or would playing on risk making it worse?
Until I had the perk, I intended to play it safe.
I sent him to the dressing room, and told him to send Pascal out.
As I escorted Aff off the pitch, the referee came up to me. "Best, you've got nine players. We can't hold up the match while we wait for your sub to come from the dressing room and warm up!"
"No worries," I said, laughing, making eye contact with the Boston manager. "Nine's enough. This lot are shit."
Well, Boston didn't like that, and they tried to get stuck into a tackle, somewhere, on someone. But Ryan Jack knew what was up, and the two of us played bounce passes off each other while the Boston midfielders ran in a frenzy. When one came too close, we'd pass to Sam or Raffi. We fucking took the piss in midfield, and when Boston ran out of steam, I booted the ball as hard as I could in the general direction of the home dugout. It didn't go very near the manager, but he reacted like I'd fired a cannonball at him - one from a ship, not from my boot.
"Bossss," complained Glenn, from behind me, as the Julian guy came up to me and tried to shove me over.
"What?" I said, as much to the referee as to my captain. "It's just so we can bring our sub on!"
***
Boggy: What do you mean, you thought he might pop?
Max: Didn't you see him? He was screaming so much he looked like the kid in Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory. You know, the girl who chews the blueberry bubblegum she was told not to try. We were all ignoring him by then, which I think made him even angrier.
Boggy: Sorry, Max, sorry. But did you say... you ignored him?
Max: I mean... mostly. Right?
***
I put Pascal on the right and switched us to right passing. As I finished tweaking the settings, I fell to my haunches - a tiny wave of fatigue had hit me. Being player-manager was three times as tiring as doing one or the other. I imagined lining up against Darlington and pushed myself to keep going. If we could just play for five minutes without having to make any tweaks or changes, that would help.
We dicked for a while, and Boston fell further and further back. I switched with Sam Topps - he went to centre back and I played something like a right wing-back. Basically, I hugged the touchline and stood fifteen yards behind Pascal, just in front of Boston's manager. When he took a step to the right, so did I. When he took another step, I mean, come on, you know what I did, and if you find that exasperating, imagine how he felt.
In my weird position, the ball wasn't coming to me, so I set myself as playmaker and stopped my guys from making forward runs. I wanted the ball!
It came, and I did some kick ups. Eight, in fact. As I was going, I did the old counting trick I'd learned as a kid so that I could hyper-inflate my skills. "One, two, skip a few, ninety-nine a hun-dred!"
Well, the manager came at me but stopped himself before he did anything too stupid, which was disappointing. I did get clattered, and their left-winger got a yellow card.
I lay on the ground, pretending to be in agony, for a full minute, pausing only to wink at my rival. When the referee's back was turned, I squirmed and saw Glenn Ryder giving an impromptu motivational speech in the centre circle. Keeping the lads away from me. Perfect!
Up on my feet, I took the free kick, and the match settled back into some semblance of normalcy for as long as it took me to jog to the centre spot and back to my new hunting ground in front of the home dugout.
Next time I got the ball, I stopped it dead, mentally switched Pascal to the left wing, set him as playmaker and made all the passes go left, then did one of the most obnoxious, disgusting things ever seen on an English football pitch.
***
Boggy: You positioned yourself right in front of the home dugout, and you were...
Max: What?
Boggy: You were being silly.
Max: Who, me? [laughter] That doesn't sound like me, Boggy.
***
The tension as I stared at the ball was palpable. Fifteen hundred people knew I was going to do something mad, and even though I was so focused on the match I couldn't hear most of the shouts and songs from the crowd, I felt it.
I bent and touched the ball with my right knee.
The crowd went apoplectic. Seriously, there could have been riots if I'd provoked them any further.
I bent and touched the ball with my left knee.
Multiple Boston players were storming towards me, and three arrived at once. Just in time, I flicked the ball sideways to Sam.
Topps sends the ball forward to Jack.
Jack finds Bochum in acres of space. Where are the defenders?
Bochum looks up. He has multiple options!
He chooses Brown.
Brown only has the keeper to beat...
GOOOOAAAALLLL!!!!
Safely into the corner.
And there's some trouble over on the benches.
***
Boggy: There was a lot of talk after that goal about sportsmanship and things like that.
Max: Seems like a perfectly legitimate goal, to me.
Boggy: Well, yes, but it was... provocative.
Max: Nah. It was a training ground routine. A set move, in fact.
Boggy: So will we be seeing that one again?
Max: [laughter] No. No no no. [more laughter]
***
Boston went crazy, and I was surrounded by feral idiots throwing random punches. Most of their anger was because they knew I'd used their emotions against them, but still, I had to be rescued by the Brig. Once he'd got me out of the scrum, he suggested I might want to stop doing that. Then when I got a cheeky glint in my eye, he suggested if I did that again he'd be one of the guys ready to beat the devil out of me.
***
Boggy: So that was three-nil, with Raffi Brown on a hat trick. Something changed, then.
Max: [Distantly] Isn't it weird that on a hat trick means close to a hat trick? [Normal] Yeah, the Boston Blueberry realised that his gamesmanship and sanctioned violence was blowing up in his face, so he tried something radical. He tried playing some football. He switched to 4-4-2 and tried to attack down the flanks.
Boggy: You called for Trick Williams.
Max: Yeah. I wanted to put him at left mid and Pascal on the right, and see how that shaped up. I hadn't seen Trick in that exact position but he's solid defensively and decent going forward. He's not quite at Aff's levels but I thought he might do a job for us. And if he can play there, we can rest Aff more often. I just wanted to try it in a real match, and it was hard to imagine there'd ever be a better time.
Boggy: You weren't worried at all? About saving a substitution for an emergency? About the possibility of a comeback?
Max: From Boston? In the state they were in? With us playing how we were playing? Not in the slightest.
Boggy: But then there was another setback.
Max: You and your setbacks.
***
The threat from the flanks wasn't going to keep me awake at night, but I was burning stamina getting around the pitch putting out fires. All we needed was to have Trick on the left, Pascal on the right, and that would deal with three-quarters of it.
So who to take off?
A striker? Nah.
One of my three CMs? Bro, why? They're running the game.
So I took Carl off and put Trick in Aff's position at left midfield.
"Boss," said Glenn.
"Oh, captain, my captain."
"Just checking... are we playing 2-5-2 with a right winger as our second centre back?"
"Ooh, I'm first centre back, wouldn't you say? I'm on at least eight out of ten today. You're barely breaking seven."
He laughed. "Okay, but you're not doing headers. That's all right as DM, but back here..."
I thought about it. "I will if I have to. Long punts, you get over and get your head on, all right? Don't worry if you need to go out of position. I've got you." I rubbed my hands together. "Now, let's slap."
And for a few minutes, we were right back to looking imperious. Trick slotted into the left mid position pretty well, and the team had a beautiful balance again.
But the universe didn't want me to enjoy my day. Sam challenged for a header, and when he landed, he crumpled to the floor, with his profile turning all kinds of red.
I checked the commentary and the foul count, but it didn't seem like the Boston guy had done anything wrong. Just a bad landing. My guys stayed calm - perfect.
Livia checked Sam out, and after a delay, called for the stretcher.
Sam was carried off. Normally a player who is stretchered off gets a round of applause from the opposition fans. Shows they are classy and it's just a game and all that. But I'd wound them up something rotten, so Sam was taken off to dead silence.
We went over to the side to take on liquid and squeeze marathon paste into our mouths.
"Max," said Henri. "We've made all our subs, yes? We're down to nine men. Will we defend? Three-nil is a good result."
"The best way to defend is to… help me finish the sentence… is to…? Anybody?"
He shook his head. "You're crazy."
"You know what's crazy?" I said, standing tall and speaking from the heart for the first time that day. I swept my finger around the group. "Crazy is working as hard as you've all done. The fitness, the drills, the early starts, the double sessions. Crazy is doing all that, getting to this position, and saying that's enough. Fuck that! We're top, they're shit, let's go slap."
"Come on!" screamed Glenn, and the rest joined in.
We strode back onto the pitch, fists clenched.
***
Boggy: The last ten minutes were quite eventful.
Max: Refresh my memory.
Boggy: Well, we played some astonishing football considering we were down to nine men...
***
Jack passes to Brown.
Brown is pulled back, but lays it off to Bochum.
Bochum finds Jack and scampers away.
Jack feeds it through to Bochum.
His first time pass is gathered by Lyons.
He combines with Hetherington.
Hetherington lines up a shot!
But it goes just wide!
Scintillating play from the away team.
***
Boggy: Did you think about taking your foot off the accelerator?
Max: No.
Boggy: Boston had a little purple patch.
Max: What? With their lump of a centre back as an emergency striker?
Boggy: You didn't react to that move.
Max: By what, putting Henri in goal? Come on, Boggy.
Boggy: It helped them get something going. A few corners and throw ins. Bit of pressure. Their fans were getting really animated. They sensed their chance.
Max: What I think you're saying is that everyone in Lincolnshire who knew about football left on the Mayflower.
***
Boston fire a long ball forward.
Ryder leaps - he's beaten to it.
Chance here for Boston?
No - Best covers and puts the ball out for a throw.
Boston want to load the penalty area.
Bochum waits on the halfway line.
The long throw comes in.
It's flicked on - danger here!
Best chests the ball on the goal line!
He volleys it out to the left. That looked risky!
Williams is there. He gathers and pumps the ball forward.
Now Chester are one on one!
Bochum beats his man for pace.
He's going through!
But he's fouled!
The referee is going to his pocket.
It's red!
***
Boggy: They got a red card, and while the referee was dealing with the aftermath of that, we got some good news. Sam Topps declared himself fit to return to the action.
Max: Yeah, well, he said he was fit but he wasn't.
Boggy: You let him on, though.
Max: Just for the change in the vibe, right? It was eleven against nine, then it was ten against ten. They had a player walking off, we had one walking on. That's hard to take. Their morale took a nosedive.
Boggy: You had another altercation with the manager.
Max: Ah, this got blown way out of proportion. I simply, Boggy, simply tried to shake the hand of the player who got a red card. To tell him there were no hard feelings and whatnot.
Boggy: It did sort of look like you were thanking him for costing his team the chance of a comeback, or something like that.
Max: Come on.
Boggy: Then the manager shoved you, and you offered him a handshake, too. Would you like to tell us why?
Max: Just being friendly.
Boggy: Was it to wind him up?
Max: What a thing to say.
Boggy: Can you please tell us what happened next?
Max: Well -
Boggy: But, Max, please. I'm burning with curiosity. I know it's the kind of thing football insiders like to keep to themselves, but... please.
Max: All right. But that's your please card used for the year, okay? [sound of water being sipped] The referee came over. Asked me to stop winding the Boston guys up. Which, by the way, an outrageous slur. I mean, me? I said I'd stop if Boston stopped trying to cripple me and my players. The ref said yeah but it's not safe. He meant with the crowd, but by then they weren't hopeful. Loads left when we scored the fourth goal and the ones that stayed were stunned. I told the ref my employees weren't safe and if you think I'm going to let that slide you're delusional.
Boggy: I heard you shout, 'don't mess with Chesters'.
Max: I'm sure you didn't. I was totally calm. But I did say I intended to run up the score and get this person sacked because he was a disgrace and we'd do it playing fantasy football and after every goal I'd offer the gentleman a handshake and every time he refused we'd score another one.
Boggy: Max...
Max: It was really a storm in a teacup. I had quite a lot of exhaustion and frustration that had built up and the guy got pretty much full blast.
Boggy: That explains why he left the dugout after the fifth goal... I thought he'd been sent off.
Max: He sent himself off. All right, that was Boston.
Boggy: We've got two more goals and another red card to talk about!
Max: Yeah but, you know. It's boring.
Boggy: It's not boring! Let's recap. We played a tough team, away, red card, used all the subs, down to nine men, you're playing DM, you're playing centre back. And we win six-nil. And those last two goals prove crucial in putting you just slightly ahead of Folke Wester in the race for Manager of the Month. Which you win.
Max: Okay, it's not boring. But we've only talked about one game and there's loads of other stuff to cover. I need a nap. Then a sleep. Then a holiday. Then a mini break to recover from the holiday.
Boggy: I really wanted to spend a good amount of time on the Boston match, Max, because it was... There was a good minute where I couldn't talk, there near the end. I pretended the microphone had a problem, but it wasn't that. I was looking around the pitch and it was mostly the same players as last year, but we'd gone from being awful, really terrible, to this. We were passing the ball around, doing whatever we wanted, it looked like. There was a swagger to it. A confidence. I was up there in the stands, biting my nails, worrying, begging you to retreat, to defend, to see it out. But after the fifth goal, I got emotional. It was unprofessional. But I just felt such... pride.
Max: Push that mic away a little bit.
Boggy: [tearful laughter] There we go. Ahh. Sorry. Being a silly old sod, here. I really just wanted to say thank you, Max. I work in the entertainment industry and there's a lot of overnight successes. Bands and comedians appear out of nowhere and set the world alight. But I saw them four years ago, playing to empty rooms. I know what it takes to get from mediocre to outstanding. You make it look easy, but I know it's not.
Max: It's a lot of work.
Boggy: I bet.
Max: I appreciate it, Boggy. I really do. Sometimes it feels that people... Okay, Boston. It was a great win and what I liked was that it was a culmination of lots of things. The fitness training, the technique drills, the way we build attacks. Even the stupid set pieces. But when the final whistle went, I was completely spent. You can't imagine how draining it is to try to play and monitor the whole team.
Boggy: I can imagine. I have twins.
Max: [laughter] Okay, you win. But I was spent, like I said, and then I have to go to the dressing room and work out what to do with my staff. They let me down and they let the club down. It doesn't matter why they did it. They need to be better than that. So I've done a full day's work, and there's more work to do. And of course, I tell them off and they don't like it. So now they're mad at me for telling them off for something they did wrong. Ugh.
Boggy: Was it - ?
Max: Joe's red card makes teams think they can get at us with this dark arts stuff. I thought I'd put that to bed, right? Now the next ten matches, we're going to get it again and again, harder and harder. We're going to lose players to injury because of teams trying to kick us into getting red cards. It's infuriating. We've got to be smarter. The way we play, the way we behave, everything. We can't give advantages to our opponents. It drives me crazy. It's exhausting.
Boggy: Is that why you make the subs wait in the dressing rooms, now?
Max: Yeah. I don't trust them.
Boggy: It's quite strange seeing one physio and your assistant manager and realising everyone else is in the naughty corner.
Max: I want to win matches and they could have stopped me doing that. That's not acceptable. Fans like it when the guys lose their heads. I don't. I want to win. They'll serve their sentence and then get a last chance.
Boggy: Sentence? Did you do a court case? A trial?
Max: No comment.
Boggy: I suppose it was a bittersweet day for you, when you put it into perspective like that. Thanks for the insight, by the way. That's fascinating. But for us fans, it was unfettered joy. Darlington and York slipped up, and that result put us in second place, and really put the cat among the pigeons. Lots of people were taking notice. Raffi's hat trick got him the Player of the Month award, too.
Max: Deserved. Everyone's working hard, but he's on another level.
Boggy: We were all excited about the league, but then it was a few cup matches in a row. First up was Cray Wanderers. All the way down in London.
Max: Yeah, it was a long trip. [sigh]
Boggy: Talk us through the strategy and the lineup and your thoughts going into the match.
Max: Well, no disrespect to Cray, but they're near the bottom of the table in the... not sure I can say this right... Isthmian League? That's seventh tier, so it's like playing FC United in bad form. Obviously, on their day, they can beat us, but also obviously, on our day, we smash them. I did 4-1-4-1, bit of rotation, Robbo in goal, Youngster as DM, Henri rested.
Boggy: You put yourself on the bench.
Max: Sometimes you get people saying such and such a cup isn't important, we should concentrate on the league. So I'm there to give myself fifteen minutes if things are going well, or the whole second half if my guys aren't on it. Obviously, a couple of guys like Trick who are getting minutes but aren't starting every week are keen to impress, and someone like Robbo knows every cup match is another match for him, so all in all, motivation was high and the will to win was there.
Boggy: Is Robbo the cup goalie, then?
Max: Not exactly. But if there's a cup match he'll play in that or in one of the closest league games.
Boggy: A lot of people -
Max: I'm not interested in discussing that. My goalies rotate. Complain if you want. Get voted onto the board and you'll be able to tell me to my face what a mistake it is. Next.
Boggy: It was a very routine win.
Max: Yes. Really couldn't have gone better. And a little run out for Andrew Harrison, plus fifteen minutes for me.
Boggy: As the defensive midfielder.
Max: Right. I'm treating myself like your bog-standard genius who's recovering from injury. The 45 minutes against Boston was an exception. I'll be building up to playing the full ninety, but don't expect me to do any mystery winger stuff. Maybe not this whole season.
Boggy: Okay, that's not what I wanted to hear. Wow. That's... I should be grateful you're playing, I suppose. I don't really see everything you do in that role but Spectrum's in complete rapture about it. Sometimes he just sighs. It’s bad radio. But three-nil, and these wins are starting to feel comfortable.
Max: Why wouldn't they be?
Boggy: It certainly helps that we keep so many clean sheets. The Cray win made five games in a row without conceding, although there were plenty of hairy moments in that period. At the other end, there were lots of goals going in. Most from open play, but with some caused by the chaos of some very unusual set pieces. I'm guessing those are training ground routines?
Max: Every Wednesday morning, the lads get together in those huts, those shaman huts, throw weird mushrooms onto a fire, breathe the fumes, and the most surreal free kick idea gets chosen to be tried in a real, professional football match. That's what I think happens, anyway. It's certainly the best way to explain some of the stuff we do.
Boggy: You don't have input into the set pieces?
Max: My input is to delegate it. It's bonkers, what they think we're capable of, but it has the benefit of making us really quite good at defending set pieces. We're ready for anything, it feels like.
Boggy: The draw for the next round was made the next evening, and we got another Cray!
Max: I had no idea there were so many teams called Cray.
Boggy: Cray Valley Paper Mills F.C. Another away tie!
Max: It's really crazy the way that's happening. But I don't care. I'm just thinking, win that and we're in the FA Cup proper. The first round. I mean, we're likely to be big underdogs but if we could win, that'd be forty grand in prize money. It's already starting to add up.
Boggy: Handy in the January transfer window.
Max: No, the prize money's reserved for the players. It's all going on training equipment and medical gadgets and the like. Basically saying to the lads, win and we'll help you win more. When I say it out loud, it sounds stupid. But I think it's working. They're telling us what they want. Stuff they've had at other clubs. And whenever one of us hears a club is doing something to their training ground, Inga calls and asks if they're selling their old gear. We've picked up a few little bargains. We got a load of boxing stuff and the lads are absolutely mad for it. Yeah, it's motivational.
Boggy: So that was September. Manager of the Month, as we said. Congratulations, again. The first match in October was for the women's team.
Max: October first was the FA Cup Qualifying Second Round against Warrington. The same Warrington who are not only in our league, but were our next scheduled opponents. Back to back games against the same team - I'm not a fan.
Boggy: Were you prioritising the cup or the league?
Max: Yes.
***
October 1
FA Cup Qualifying Round 2: Warrington Double Question Marks versus Chester Women
The monthly perk dropped. It was called Hot Stuff! For 500 XP it would let me create preset hot buttons with different tactical options to use in matches. It said I could switch formations and individual tactics with one 'key press' instead of having to click on individual profiles.
It was a quality of life upgrade I normally would have postponed, but I was starting to get a bit frazzled from making hundreds of decisions and not getting proper sleep. It was also the only perk that would make being player-manager slightly easier. I'd be able to set Aff as the playmaker and make the team pass left, then switch it all over to the right, with single thoughts. A little less time in my screens, a little more mental energy for being a player. So while it would delay my getting the Injuries perk, I felt I needed it.
We were away at local rivals Warrington. On all my documents, they were listed as Warrington Wolves, but on the day they called themselves Warrington Town Women, while one website had them as Warrington Town Ladies.
Just annoying, and by the way, don't switch from a cool name to a generic one.
Their average CA was 18, which put me in a great mood, because with a little bit more time on the training pitch and a little bit of tactical cleverness, we could hope to beat them home and away in the league. Our best possible CA, playing a 4-5-1, was a smidge over 16. Tough match, then, and a good chance we'd get knocked out of the cup. So I decided to smash Triple Captain and Bench Boost. To make that more effective, I dropped Bea Pea and Dani to the bench so they'd play great in the second half. I also had Kisi available.
Dani and Kisi had a weird relationship. Kisi was super friendly, of course, and had secretly been learning sign language. Dani, though, was only polite in return.
Bonnie took me aside and explained that my enthusiasm for Kisi made Dani jealous, and I could use that as a motivational tool. So I turned up to training and expressed amazement at Kisi's dribbling, forward thinking, positivity, two-footedness. Basically, anything I wanted Dani to do more of, I praised Kisi for.
And it worked! Dani improved slightly faster than the group on average.
***
Boggy: You surprised everyone by leaving out Dani and Bea Pea. It was almost as though you were happy to get knocked out. Happy to play a weakened team.
Max: Nah. They only have a match every two weeks so it's important to do well in the cups. That was a tactical plan.
Boggy: Could you explain the plan? Julie McKay struggled on her own in that first half.
Max: The plan was to smash the second half.
Boggy: I suppose that's a pretty good plan.
Max: I didn't think we'd smash quite that hard.
Boggy: From one-nil down to four-one up. Warrington scored two late on to make the match look closer than it was.
Max: The prize money for that was three thousand pounds. Did you know that? That's handy cash.
Boggy: The interchange between all the midfielders was something to behold.
Max: Oh, mate, it was unreal. Dani, Kisi, Maddy, and Bea Pea were like a little whirlwind. I told the defenders to stay back because we didn't need them. So we had that solid base, Pippa and Charlotte bossing the midfield, and then a healthy bit of chaos.
Boggy: A healthy bit of chaos. Could be the name of your autobiography.
Max: I was thinking Max Best: Starboy.
Boggy: So we're in good shape, there. There's the league match against the same opponents tomorrow, and then another cup tie.
Max: Stockport County in the Cheshire Cup. They're tier four. I can imagine that'll be tough. And it's another away match! We're crazy unlucky in the cup draws. Did you know Man United have had ten home cup matches in a row? It's like a thousand to one odds. Yeah, the women are on track. Unless there's a super team in the league we'll be all right. It looks, so far, like Altrincham are the best so we'll know more after we've played them.
Boggy: Going back to the first week in October, if I may, we had a little spate of contract announcements. That came as a surprise to a lot of people. I've got the first tweet here. Let me read it out... Chester FC are delighted to announce we've signed a contract extension with Diarmuid Dubhlainn! Manager Max Best says, "Aff! Aff! Aff!"
Max: Yep. Two more years, plus an extension if we want it. It's great.
Boggy: There were a few rumours doing the rounds that you didn't like him.
Max: Am I supposed to discuss rumours with you, Boggy? Is that a good use of our time?
Boggy: Why did you start with Aff?
Max: Very important player, still got the potential to improve, works hard, great for the team, gets what we're doing here. There's no particular rhyme or reason to the order. There's loads of great players I want to keep who I haven't spoken with, yet. Some of it depends if we get promoted or not.
Boggy: Next was Ben Cavanagh.
Max: Young goalie, we think he can keep improving.
Boggy: Max, he's three years older than you! You can't call him young.
Max: Channeling my inner dinosaur. Who else? Carl Carlile. I was pleased with that one, especially, because we had a good talk before. I told him he can move up a couple of divisions and I'll help him do that, but he has to knuckle down. Not that he's lazy, but he's a bit, I don't know, disillusioned that he's been stuck at this level. But he feels we're building a head of steam. He feels what's happening here, and he wants to come with us and be part of it, and that's exciting for me. With the women's team it's all about starting from scratch and every time you add a new player it unlocks all kinds of combos and special moves - I mean, look what happened when we unleashed Kisi Yalley! But the men's team is way more established and it's just thrilling to take someone like Carl and energise him and turn him into a new player.
Boggy: You're really motivated by coaching.
Max: Not me as the coach, not all that much, no, but seeing the potential in someone and getting obstacles out of their way in some cases and beating it out of them in other cases, that's so much fun. That's so satisfying.
Boggy: It's good to see you smile!
Max: I smile, Boggy. I'm just tired.
Boggy: I can see that. On the women's side, you started with Charlotte.
Max: She's quality. Two plus one, but the one comes with a big pay rise so we won't trigger that if we're still in tier six. It protects her. Win-win. Then I offered the same to Bonnie, and that was...
Boggy: What?
Max: Nothing. She signed, all good. Big step forward for the group.
***
I had the Brig in my office at the credit card building as I stared at a computer screen. The rectangle of blue light was squashing and expanding like a psychedelic screen saver. It was fascinating. My head dipped, and that woke me back up for a few seconds, but then it was dipping again.
Bonnie appeared, knocked on the open door, and stepped inside, a bit wary. Her morale was in red - it had plummeted to Ok. She'd come in on her lunch break from whatever garbage job she did because I'd said I had a deal to offer her. I fished in various drawers and found the standard contracts we'd drawn up. I talked her through the terms but it was so boilerplate there wasn't much to say.
"The money's shit. You'll need to keep your day job. It's more about rewarding you for your effort. And getting some stability. I don't want twenty new players every season."
She had this weird, defensive look about her. "Why start with me?"
"I'm not. Charlotte signed. Dani's parents want me to wait. You're up." I wanted her to sign so I could stare at the screen and get back into that headspace of nearly being asleep. That was awesome. I put my hands on my lap and felt their warmth. If I was in bed I could curl up into a ball. That would be nice.
Bonnie checked out the Brig, who was doing some coaching coursework. He noticed the gap in the conversation and looked up, but Bonnie turned to me again. She turned towards the door, just a fraction. "Why me?"
"Jesus Christ," I said, standing up and pottering around. I paused in front of the photo of young Jackie. I'd decided to keep it. Sort of a warning - don't work so hard you burn out. It wasn't going that well. "You're the captain. You're my best defender. You're essential to everything we're doing. Holy shit. Bonnie, I'm completely out of battery. I'd love one interaction to go smoothly. One per month. Sign, or don't, but don't give me the twenty questions treatment. Please." I sat back down, rubbing my hands all over my face.
"I just want to know," she said, in an unexpected soft-spoken voice, as she stared at her hands, "if it's for me or for Angel."
I slumped against the back of my chair - the Ian Evans chair - and hunted around my memories for someone called Angel. There was nothing in the player database. Nothing in the staff section. My normal, human memories came up blank. I leant forward and put my head on the desk. I felt so, so tired. Dog tired. What did dogs do when they'd had enough? They found somewhere soft and crashed on it, right? "Brig, get me a pillow."
"You have a meeting with the board at one o'clock, sir. Then it's off to a school to watch a match."
"Mate," I said, with half my cheek squashed flat. I made a sad little noise. "You do the board."
"Regrettably, I cannot. They are impertinent." He had been pretty smug when I'd started complaining about the new board. They had some uppity guys who thought they had the right to ask me about my decisions. The fact that I didn't feel like explaining myself to anyone was a source of no little friction. But when they'd dared to press the Brig about his qualifications and suitability for the role, he had reacted just the same as me. Sulkily.
"Max?" said Bonnie.
"Go way," I mumbled.
"So it's really not about Angel?"
"Angel!" I said, briefly flashing wide awake. But that only served to make the next collapse into sleep even more irresistible. "I know a demon. Do you have an angel? That's not fair."
I dreamt that I heard the contracts being signed.
***
Match 11 of 46: Chester FC versus Peterborough Sports
Boggy: Next up was the men's home league match against Peterborough.
P Sports. Tenth on my list of the strongest teams. Average CA: 43. Average morale: 4.7. Typical 4-4-2 team with a more technical midfield than most. I went 3-5-2 to try to swamp them, and it worked. Still, they gave us a fright.
Boggy: Were you worried when they went two-nil up?
Max: I mean, only in the sense that if you go crazy looking for a goal and they score a third, you make it really difficult for yourself. But the way we played the ten minutes before their goals and the ten minutes after was exactly the same, which shows the players were really sticking to the plan. Believed in our way of playing. And when we got the goal back before half time, I did think we'd come out blazing in the second half. So I got a bit more technical than normal at half time.
Boggy: What like?
Max: Pointing out weaknesses in their players. I really focused on two lads who I thought we could get at, but when we went back out we saw they'd subbed them off. I don't know if you remember they were all laughing their heads off...
Boggy: I do remember that! That's why?
Max: Yeah. They thought me wasting my time like was hilarious. And I suppose it was. But that's the mood in the dressing room. Very confident. You could say that's a setback, right, analysing those players so much and then finding out they're not even playing. Stuff like that makes winning even sweeter. And the guys who came on weren't as good, so whatever.
Boggy: They were taller.
Max: Teams in this league are obsessed with the idea they can score, like, five corners a match against us because we've got a couple of short players. I don't understand why people think of me as some kind of tactical maverick when you've got managers setting up basketball teams against us. I think most of what I do is pretty conventional by comparison. And look at the numbers! There are two teams who are very good at defending corners, two who are very bad, and the rest are in a big statistical blob. And we are one of the most dangerous teams from other teams' corners. We're more likely to score from your corner than from ours. That's the most self-evident thing in the world to me, but they keep finding tall, slow men to throw into the box and they wonder why we keep scoring.
Boggy: We did concede from two corners, though.
Max: I know. I was there. And the board told me. How we defend corners was items 80 to 95 on the most recent agenda. Here's the thing about corners: the probabilities are massively in our favour. He had a good left foot, the guy in that match. Got three or four right in the danger zone. Good player. But so what? We get back to two-all, and Ryan Jack's got a little tweak or something. He could play on, but he's so, so important to what we do I don't want to risk it. So I go on for him.
Boggy: I had Spectrum doing co-comms with me, and he promised me - promised me! - that you would play central midfield, that there was no way you'd play DM in front of a back three. But you played DM again! What formation was that?
Max: I suppose you'd call it 3-1-4-2.
Boggy: And you practise that, no doubt, assiduously, in the week before you use it.
Max: We don't need to practise it, Boggy. It's 3-5-2 with one guy a bit deeper. Everyone knows their roles, and the only guy doing something different is me. Why do you worry about these things?
Boggy: Because other teams can't do these things! Because we're the only team that plays two new formations every week!
Max: Come on. Yeah, so with the three centre backs behind me, I decide to interpret my role in a more, kind of, marauding way.
Boggy: Which was a disaster.
Max: Which was a disaster, yes. But one of my moves led to the free kick which -
Boggy: Hold on. Hold on! You played a nice one-two with Raffi, and you were closing in on the penalty box, and Henri and Tony were making runs away from you, and you tried to do a couple of Ronaldo stepovers -
Max: I lost my mind, mate.
Boggy: And you fell over, and the ref gave a free kick.
Max: That's exactly what happened. Thing is, when I'm slapping the ball left and right, doing one-touch passes, hundred percent pass accuracy rate, I sometimes forget that I'm not superhuman anymore. And, yeah, it was a bit embarrassing falling over in front of two thousand people, but guess what? They didn't notice. And neither did you.
Boggy: Spectrum told me.
Max: Right. So Aff clips the free kick to the far post, Henri powers a header down into the goal, three-two, job's a good 'un, and we all had a laugh about it after.
Boggy: Really?
Max: No, Peterborough were livid. They called me a cheat and cast aspersions about my parentage. I mean, I hope they look at the footage because you can see I trip myself up, and I don't even appeal for the free kick. I actually really liked that match and how they played.
Boggy: Okay, so that was another three points. 25 points after 11 games seemed pretty unlikely after losing the first two. And today was the FA Cup Qualifying Fourth Round, down in Greenwich! Which is where we both were, six hours ago. London, again, to play Cray Valley Paper Mills. Oh, Max. You're struggling.
Max: Yeah. Boggy, my goose is cooked. We won. We're in the real FA Cup now. Big achievement. Hope we get a home draw so the fans can get some of that FA Cup magic. Etcetera. But yeah. 6 hours there. Manage. Play. Media. 6 hours back. Talk to Boggy. Sleep. Another away match tomorrow.
Boggy: So... Hmm.
Max: What?
Boggy: I know you don't like hearing it, but... No, it's not my place.
Max: Go on. Say it. I'm doing all this for you, mate. When I'm stuck in my chair, trying to convince myself to get up and go to the next thing, I think of you screaming into the microphone, hoping the goalscorer doesn't have the letter P in his name. Your joy and passion, Boggy. That's what's keeping me going. You're the voice of this club. Who else in the world am I going to sit down for an interview with at the end of a long, long day when all I want is to go to bed? No-one. So you've got my permission. Speak your mind. This is me pre-absolving you.
Boggy: [sigh] Max, you're doing too much. Are... are you getting the support you need?
Max: Yes. When I ask for something, I get it. I asked MD for some cash to send a rando on a scouting course and he huffed and puffed, preening himself up like a big accountant peacock, but he said yes. So I'm hoping we'll get a scout out of that. If she's as good as I suspect, she'll help. She'll be a force multiplier.
Boggy: Oh. That all sounds... very Max. You need a proper break, though. I'm not saying you shouldn't manage the women, far from it, but...
Max: It's the playing, Boggy. That's the thing. I'm pushing my limits so I can play... in a certain match. And so I can help the team when it really needs me to go on and make a difference. And I am looking for someone to be a head coach for the women. I told them at the start of the season I was looking for someone. We've had applicants. But, take two examples of managers I've worked under. Ian Evans and David Cutter. Very typical football guys, yeah? But it's 4-4-2 defensive. I've put together a team full of crafty little midfielders, so I can't have a 4-4-2 guy. I can't have a defensive guy. That rules out seventy percent of the industry.
Boggy: But -
Max: Look, don't worry about it. I'm not on a mad self-destructive power trip. I know I need help, but it has to be the right help. The wrong help is more tiring than no help.
Boggy: I feel sorry for you, seeing you there on the touchline with just your assistant and one physio, and the other manager has ten people to talk to. And your girlfriend lives so far away. I hate to think you're lonely when you're doing so much for this city.
Max: I'm not lonely, Boggy. I've got you. And listen, I'm working hard, but I love it. I'm very lucky. It's a dream job. Sometimes it's one of those dreams where you're filling in endless paperwork or people are telling you all the mistakes they think you're making based on something they heard a guy say in a pub. And I suppose if I was designing the absolute perfect state of affairs there wouldn't be a guy who'd made a whole website called has Max signed a proper contract dot co dot uk which is just the word no in big letters.
Boggy: One thing you could do that not a single fan would think less of you for, is put out a weak team in the Cheshire Seniors Cup this Tuesday night.
Max: Absolutely not. We're in it to win it. And we're going for the FA Trophy, too, when that starts.
Boggy: You know, I think you might actually be a little bit crazy.
Max: You might be right.
Boggy: Great win today. There's incredible energy around the place. I got some voice note submissions from the fan buses today. I can't use a single one, but trust me, you've lifted the whole city, Max.
Max: Okay.
Boggy: Join us next month where we'll talk about our various cup runs, league performances, and, first and foremost, the women's team. All right, Max? Oh! Let's end on that smile.
Max: They can't see it, Boggy.
Boggy: They can hear it.
Max: Come on you Seals.